


we lifted this house

by orphan_account



Series: breaking all the rules [2]
Category: Saving Private Ryan (1998)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Roommates, yeah this is a coffee shop au too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-19 20:12:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10647216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Somehow Upham manages to get hired, fired, and start a literal fire all in one day. His roommates are very supportive.





	we lifted this house

**Author's Note:**

> i'm having a hell of a fun time writing this, at least. and yes, all the titles are going to be "anna sun" lyrics.

"We have rules," says Reiben, on Upham's first Saturday morning in Charlie House.

Upham blinks, his spoonful of Lucky Charms pausing halfway to his mouth. (The cereal wasn't his choice -- Mellish is neurotic about breakfast, and won't allow anything other than Lucky Charms or Froot Loops in the house. There are also pop tarts, but Reiben defends those with all the verve of a territorial tomcat. Upham thought he was living with college students, not elementary schoolers.)

This is the first he's heard about rules. After nearly a week in Charlie House, he thinks he would have noticed.

There's an order to living with six other guys, and by now Upham is figuring out how it works. Overall, having roommates isn’t as bad as he thought it would be. It helps that Wade is hardly ever around; he spends most of his time at the hospital. His schedule is so packed with his internship that Upham doesn’t get to see him as much as he’d like. Despite living in the same room, all Upham really knows about Wade is that he’s quiet, thoughtful, and the nicest person in the house. (Also, he’s _scary_ when he's mad.)

As for the others, he’s learned about them too. Caparzo and Mellish are always up to something, and it’s better not to ask what. Jackson apparently has a very active social life, the details of which he refuses to share with anyone. Reiben is always up for an argument, but he spends almost as much time out of the house as Jackson. Horvath is called “Sarge” by the others for reasons unknown to Upham. (He’s asked twice -- according to Mellish, he got the name after he wrestled an alligator to death. Reiben told a similar story, except with a bear. Upham has decided to stop asking.) Horvath could not care less what the younger roommates get up to as long as they stay out of his basement and don’t burn the house down.

It’s easy enough to fit in, because Upham keeps to minimal interaction with his roommates. He spends most of his time at school or holed up in his room. Moving into Charlie House hasn’t changed his social life at all -- it’s still nonexistent. At least now he isn’t responsible for getting his own groceries.

He’s just starting to settle into a routine here, so the revelation that there are actual rules takes him aback. Were it just Reiben or Mellish saying it, he’d ignore them. However, this seems almost like an intervention. Reiben is standing in the doorway; Mellish and Jackson both look very serious as they lounge against the kitchen counters; Caparzo eats his Lucky Charms while piercing Upham with a deadpan stare. Even Horvath has his arms crossed, looking as stern as he usually does in class. Upham suddenly feels put on the spot, and he doesn’t like it.

“Uhh… rules?” He clears his throat, sitting up a bit straighter. “I didn’t know there were rules.”

“No kidding,” says Reiben, rolling his eyes. “We’re telling you now. Are you listening, or are you not?”

Upham nods quickly. “I’m listening.”

“You sure as hell’d better be.” Reiben seems to be putting extra effort into acting like he's got a hive of bees up his ass. Upham, used to it by now, isn't fazed by the other man’s glower. He can't help but startle a bit when Reiben slams his hand down on the kitchen counter, inches away from a glass vase.

“Rent is due every month, on the first Wednesday. It goes in here, which goes to Horvath, who takes it to Miller. If you’re late, you get to sleep in the attic.”

 _Been there,_ thinks Upham, but holds his tongue. The vase is empty as of now, but Reiben still glowers at him as if he expects him to steal cash from it anyway.

Before Reiben can give into his apparent instinct to punch Upham in the face for existing, Jackson steps in. “If you drink the last bit of coffee, it’s your life on the line.”

Horvath takes a long sip of coffee, looking menacing.

“This one’s very important,” says Caparzo, holding up a finger. “Don’t bring hookups home.”

Raising his eyebrows, Upham’s gaze immediately drifts to Reiben. He's not surprised to find everyone else staring at him too. If anything, Reiben looks unashamed. He just shrugs, smirks, and rolls his shoulders back into the doorframe. “Correction,” he says, “don’t let Miller _find out_ you’re bringing hookups home.”

“If someone comes to the door asking questions, the correct answer is always, ‘he’s out of the country,’” contributes Mellish with a wry grin.

“Nice one.” Reiben snaps his fingers before looking around at the rest of the group. “What else we got?” It occurs to Upham, briefly, that they seem to be making these up as they go along.

Jackson looks like he’s taking this seriously, at least. “Do not go into Sarge’s basement.”

“Leave Sarge alone,” says the man in question, and Upham is scared enough of him to know that he means whatever threat lies behind the words wholeheartedly.

“Don’t barge into a room without knocking. If someone tells you not to come in, don’t come in.” For some reason they all look at Caparzo, who glares back around the room with a defiant grunt.

“Pants are required at all times. Do not sit on the couch without pants. Jackson will burn it.”

“I will,” says Jackson. Like Horvath, he is deadpan enough that Upham isn’t about to test him.

This rule seems to remind them of something else, because Jackson abruptly turns to the fridge and plucks off a bright green post-it. He holds it up to the light before pausing, peering up at the paper for a second too long, until his brow furrows and he passes it off to Mellish. Mellish apparently wants nothing to do with it, and moves to hands it to Caparzo before Reiben scoffs and snatches it from his hands.

"Doctor handwriting," is all Mellish says, and Jackson shrugs.

Reiben lets out a huff before squinting down at the paper himself. “Holy shit,” he mutters, before clearing his throat and announcing in a self-important tone, “Here’s what Wade’s got to say: don’t set anything on fire, don’t set yourself on fire, don’t set someone else on fire, you can not jump off the roof into the swimming pool, traumatic injuries are not a joke, _I swear to god_ \--”

Horvath mutters something that sounds like _“Jesus”,_ while Mellish snorts into his cup of coffee.

Upham sits up a bit straighter. “We have a swimming pool?” he asks, and for some reason every person in the room’s eyes widen. Caparzo holds up his hands, while Mellish starts shaking his head desperately. The mere mention of the swimming pool seems to produce a shared reaction of horror for reasons unknown. Upham’s curiosity is piqued.

“No, we don’t,” says Reiben bluntly. “That’s another rule. Do not go near the swimming pool.”

“Forget about the swimming pool.”

“It’s not there. It doesn’t exist.”

Upham’s head swivels between his roommates, and he years to ask so desperately that it actually hurts. The moment he opens his mouth, however, he’s cut off by a hasty Mellish.

“Most important one! What happens in this house stays in this house. You got that?” The finger he sticks in Upham’s face is vaguely threatening, and way too close to his eye, so Upham nods his assent.

 _“That’s_ not the most important one.”

Here Reiben straightens up, only to lean forward. He gets uncomfortably close, face almost level with Upham’s, causing the other boy to lean back in his seat. Reiben always has an underlying intensity to him, something simmering just beneath the surface. Now it’s clear as glass, and he looks dangerous when he speaks. “We’ve got a system here. We’ve got a way things work. We get along. Don’t mess with that, you got it? The last rule: _don’t make things weird.”_

If anyone is going to make things weird, it’s Reiben. Hell, things are already weird -- his roommates are weird enough, and Upham can’t comprehend just what he’s done to make them hate him so much, but it’s obviously something grievous. He doesn’t know how he could make things weirder than they are already.

Everyone seems solemn about this one, however. He nods, in lieu of anything else to do.

“Great! Don’t break any of the rules, don’t be a bastard, and you can live here as long as you’re breathing.”

“Or ‘til ya get expelled,” says Jackson. “Or kicked out by Miller. Or someone kills ya, but that won’t happen ‘less you’re real annoyin'...”

The realization that without any way of paying rent Upham is already breaking rule number one hits him like a brick. He can't help wincing, sinking back into his seat. Reiben must have a terrifying way of reading Upham’s mind -- or maybe he just picked up on the wary glance Upham is sending the Rent Vase -- because he picks it up and smirks down at it. This is alarming, because it is not a small vase, and could probably hold several bouquets with ease. He swings it as he turns, causing Mellish to step back, right into Jackson’s chest.

Sarge must catch it -- he’s alarmingly observant at times -- because he nudges Reiben and mutters something to him. Reiben immediately sets the vase down, turning to frown at Upham before glancing over his shoulder at Jackson.

“Hey, what's that joint you guys work at?”

Jackson raises his eyebrows. “Never heard of no joint.”

“Use your words, Reiben,” Mellish adds, smirking. Reiben deftly flips him off before beginning to gesture helplessly with his hand.

“You know, the coffee place. The one you and Caparzo go to almost every damn day, the both of you -- Mellish, come on. What's it called?”

“It doesn't serve booze, you wouldn't be interested.”

Reiben snatches a metal spoon from the nearest drawer and rounds on Mellish, who just holds his hands up with a whistle. Caparzo grins into his orange juice glass, and even Jackson can't hide a smirk. Upham just feels lost, and a little curious as to who would win in a fight between Mellish and Reiben.

Thankfully, more reasonable voices step in. “It's called _Ryan’s Brewery and Bakery_ , because they're pretentious like that. Reiben, if you don't put that spoon down I’ll shove it so far up your ass you’ll be choking on it,” Sarge says before turning to Jackson. “You know if the place is hiring?”

Jackson considers this for a moment before shrugging, lanky shoulders rising and falling in an easy motion. “Depends whether or not Mrs. Ryan’s in a good mood. I’ll ask her, if you’d like.”

“Do that. You --” Sarge points to Upham, who feels put on the spot once more, “are getting a job, kid. Staying in this house all the time isn't good for you. You've gotta get out.”

“He can work with you, Sarge,” chips in Caparzo, sounding innocent. “Upham’s tough enough to be a bouncer, dontcha think?”

“No,” Sarge deadpans, at the same time Upham makes an alarmed grunt. “We barely even let _Reiben_ near the place, and he works there.”

Reiben holds up his fingers as Upham’s questioning gaze swivels to him. “Best damn bartender that place had ever seen.”

“Yeah, cuz you drink as much as you serve,” quips Jackson. Reiben goes for the spoon again, but Horvath snatches it up before he can get to it. At the sight of the man armed, Reiben is smart enough to take a step back.

Upham can't help but be confused. “Wait, you want me to work in a coffee shop?”

The rest of the men stare at him as if he's a particularly brain-damaged duck they're trying to explain advanced calculus to.

“I don't really drink coffee. I'm more of a tea man, and I prefer green tea to black --”

“Holy shit,” says Reiben, pressing a hand to his face, while Caparzo just judges Upham for a moment before he turns to Jackson with an approving, “yep, he's pretentious enough.”

“You'll fit right in,” Jackson says, giving Upham a rare pat on the shoulder. Upham shrinks under the touch, realizing that this is happening whether he has a day in it or not.

And this is how, by some miracle, Upham winds up starting at _Ryan’s Brewery and Bakery_ the very next Monday. 

* * *

 

The first time Upham steps up to a coffee machine, it is immediately obvious that he has no clue what he's doing.

“No, no,” says Ryan, after Upham presses a third button which just winds up squirting foam everywhere. “That's definitely not how you do it.”

Ryan is a year younger than Upham, in his first year of college, but he somehow seems even younger. He's a good kid, from what Upham can tell after knowing him all of three hours. He's friendly, good with customers and cash, and has been tasked with the thankless job of training Upham.

According to Ryan, since the only other workers happen to be Upham’s roommates, he was given the job due to being a _“nonbiased party”._ This is ironic, considering Ryan’s single mother is the owner of the place, and it's obviously a business that’s been passed through the family. The shop’s walls are lined with photos of Ryan and his older brothers, from childhood to working in the brewery themselves.

(Ryan’s brothers are all off to college abroad now. Ryan is the only one left, and he takes his responsibilities in the shop seriously. Upham is a little impressed with the kid’s tenacity.)

Ryan is determined to help, but all his efforts only leave Upham feeling more helpless. Today has not been treating him well. In fact, it’s one of the worst in recent memory. He has a towel wrapped around his hand from when he scalded it with hot coffee; his apron is covered in cream and cinnamon; and the smell of coffee is starting to make him dizzy.

Caparzo’s busy at the cash register, but Jackson is lurking just behind the pastry counter. He’s clearly having the time of his life watching Upham struggle; every so often, a few traitorous snickers will drift out from behind a rack of scones, causing Upham to glare at him. At least Ryan isn’t mocking him. He’s just so helpful, and he keeps doing things so much better than Upham’s best attempts.

He shouldn’t be here. Upham knows it, and everyone else knows it too. He’s disgracing the business; hell, he’s disgracing the very name of coffee itself.

“Medium latte, two espresso shots,” Caparzo calls over his shoulder. Upham makes a startled noise and lurches towards the coffee machine like a puppet on strings. Maybe he looks close to passing out, because Ryan places a reassuring hand on his back.

“Breathe,” he encourages. “I showed you this one. You’ve got this.”

 _I’ve got this,_ Upham tells himself, seconds before fumbling and accidentally squirting half a cup’s worth of cream into the coffee.

Oh. So that’s how that button works.

Upham mutters a curse and tries to dump some of the cream out, but half the actual coffee goes with it. It makes an unattractive splash in the garbage bin, causing the customer behind the counter to raise their eyebrows. Desperate, Upham dumps the coffee entirely and moves to start a new one.

This works out mildly better than the first. He manages the espresso shots fine, and is just going to hand the coffee off to the customer before Caparzo adds, “and a jelly donut.”

Upham quickly sets the coffee down next to the machine and turns, to where Jackson has mysteriously made himself scarce. He handles the donut just fine, placing it in a bag for the customer, and hands it off without accidentally dropping a thing. Just as pride is starting to creep up on him, however, the customer frowns.

“And… my coffee?”

Upham reels, searching the space behind the counter for the coffee. Didn’t he give it to the customer already? He swore he had, but maybe he made a mistake. Did he seriously _lose someone’s coffee?_

He finally spots it by the coffee machine, and lets out a huff of relief. When he grabs it, however, he accidentally backs into Ryan, causing himself to jerk. Not only does the boiling hot drink spill all over the floor, Upham’s front also winds up drenched. A loud yell tears from his throat at the feeling of burning liquid seeping into his skin.

For a moment, there is silence. Caparzo looks like he wants to burst out laughing; the customer is horrified; Ryan just looks tired.

“Okay,” he says. “Maybe we should get you away from the hot liquids for a while.” 

* * *

 

Working the register is a lot easier. It requires social interaction, which Upham can manage if he has to; and numbers, which he isn’t bad with. He just has to shout orders back to Ryan and Caparzo, as well as handle peoples’ money. It’s the sort of job he could do in his sleep -- if he wanted to get fired, because he’s pretty sure sleeping on the job gets you fired.

( _Pretty_ sure. Upham didn’t want to tell any of the others, but this is his first job. He has no idea what he’s doing, which by now is obvious.)

He takes the change from another harried college student, smiling politely at them, and feeds it into the register. This is something he’s good at. He feels relaxed, satisfied -- hell, he’s starting to enjoy himself.

This lasts for all of half a glorious hour. Then, before Upham knows it, Caparzo and Ryan both go on break. Upham doesn’t let this sway him. Though Jackson is dividing his time between the counter and the kitchen, he’s still available to make the drinks.

For the first few minutes, Upham finds himself actually doing a good job. Then, the next person in line turns out to be the last person he wants to see.

“Hiya, Upchuck,” greets Reiben, and he’s smiling. Why is he smiling? He has no right to smile when he’s crashing Upham’s first day at work with his --- seething negative energy. Granted, he isn’t seething now, but it’s there. Reiben has made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t like Upham. He doesn’t want what’s best for him. He can only have come here for one reason, and that’s to see him _fail_.

 _(Or,_ the more sensible part of Upham’s brain pipes up, _for coffee.)_

Behind Reiben follows a welcome face -- Wade, small-statured and pale in the warm atmosphere of the shop. He comes up at Reiben’s side, offering Upham a smile that’s easy to return. There are dark bags under his eyes, and he has a stack of notebooks clutched to his chest, but he looks amiable all the same.

“Nice of you guys to stop in,” says Upham. Wade nods.

“We just wanted to see how work was treating you. Also I'm caffeine-crashing, quickly, and need something strong.”

“How strong?”

“Strong enough to bring me back from the dead.”

Upham’s still new at this, but the deadpan look on Wade’s face let's him know that he isn't joking. He'll be able to find something.

“And you?” he asks, turning to Reiben. The smirk that immediately takes over the other man’s face can mean nothing good.

“Grande chai tea latte, three pump, skim milk, lite water, no foam, extra hot, on the double.”

The absolute demon of a man rattles this stream of words off like it’s absolutely nothing, and the awful smirk on his face only grows as the barista seems to shut down in front of him. Upham’s face grows slack; his hands drop to the counter like lead weights. A full-body shudder courses through him, and he feels like he’s choking on his own tongue.

 _Reiben is from Brooklyn,_ is all Upham is able to think past his absolute horror. New York. New Yorkers are willing to drink gutter water if it’s caffeinated, and Reiben wants _what?_

He casts a desperate glance over his shoulder in search of Jackson, but he seems to have vanished into the kitchen once more. No help will come from one roommate, so Upham turns to his only other possible ally.

Next to Reiben, Wade is struggling to hide a smirk. Upham takes it back. Wade isn’t a nice person, he’s just as evil as Reiben.

“I --” says Upham. “I --”

“Oh,” adds Reiben, “and a muffin.”

“Good idea!” says Wade, eyes lighting up. “Blueberry?”

“Nah, Jackson’s cranberry ones are wild. You gotta try one.”

“Cranberry, then.” Wade grins and turns back to Upham; his eyes only soften slightly when he realizes the barista is still standing there.

“Umm,” Upham says weakly, “could you repeat that again?” 

* * *

 

Essentially, he gives Reiben coffee water with cream. He doesn’t know what he really asked for. Reiben knows this, Wade knows this, and when Ryan comes back from his break he figures it out quickly.

Upham’s two visitors have taken a seat in the corner of the cafe, and they are _laughing_ at him.

“This is it,” says Upham, voice tight as he buries his face in his hands. “Oh my god, they’re never letting me live this down. I can’t do this. I can’t.”

“Here,” says Ryan. His voice holds all the sympathy in the world as he presses a warm muffin into his hands. “It's okay, on the house.”

“You're a saint,” says Upham. He feels like crying. 

* * *

 

Somehow the coffee machine bursts into flames.

Upham doesn't know how, but there is screaming, the sprinklers nearly go off, and Caparzo ruins a perfectly good dishtowel putting it out. Once the flames have died down, Upham is left stunned; he shrinks back as Caparzo rounds on him, looking ready to chuck him out the nearest window.

“You're tryin’ to get us all killed,” the hulking man says, towering over Upham. “How the hell did you do that?”

Upham doesn't know. Upham really has no clue, but he's pretty sure the machine is unuseable now. He hadn't pressed any buttons; he hadn't done anything wrong, so there’s no reason the machine should of --

He whimpers, snatches another muffin from the rack, and takes a large bite. 

* * *

 

By the end of the day, there is a half-empty tray of muffins sitting on the counter, and not one of them went to a paying customer.

“You ate _how many?”_ demands Ryan. He doesn’t sound sympathetic anymore. He sounds horrified, and a little amazed. Kind of angry, too, but not Reiben-level angry (or worse, _Wade_ -level).

“Apparently I'm a stress eater,” he says in a small voice.

Why do his roommates have to be here? Why does _Horvath_ have to be here, when he's definitely got more important things to be doing than hovering over Upham like a disappointed father? He's not the only one who looks like Upham’s just stumbled home drunk three hours past curfew. Jackson is shaking his head, frown set deep on his face, and Mellish keeps tutting at Upham like an angry mother hen. Wade just looks let down, and that stings most of all. (Upham thought he was living with college students, not his _parents_.)

“It’s just your first day,” says Ryan, in a tone of voice that does little to disguise his amazement at the fact. “Maybe… you’ll get better?”

“He set a coffee machine on fire,” says Jackson. “He ain’t gettin’ better.”

“I’m not sure that was really his fault --” ventures Wade, but he’s cut off by Jackson’s snort.

“Wouldn’t have happened if I were there.”

“Yeah, well, where were you, Jackson?” Upham demands, the ends of his (very short) nerves close to vanishing. “Huh?”

“Making sure you didn’t give Webster a black eye,” pipes up Mellish around a mouthful of one of the only muffins Upham didn’t devour during his prolonged anxiety attack. The image of the pastry sailing past Reiben’s head and connecting with the face of the unsuspecting hipster returns to Upham full force, and he smacks his forehead against his hands.

_(“This is the shittiest coffee I’ve had in years,” he hears Reiben say from the corner, and Upham twitches painfully. “And he gave us one muffin. Why the hell’d he give us one muffin?”_

_“Maybe he thought we’d share?” suggests Wade, proceeding to steal a piece of Reiben's muffin. The other men doesn't react, save for glancing at Upham and giving a harsh scoff._

_“The guy’s not going to last a week.”_

_And maybe Upham proves him right. Stress has never agreed with him -- he gets tense, he gets impulsive, he gets freaked out. Upham has two modes when he’s really, truly under duress: he shuts down entirely, or he snaps._

_In this case, he does the latter. Well -- he does something. Upham snatches a muffin from the tray, rounds up, and hurls the pastry full force across the coffee shop straight at his bastard roommate’s head._

_Reiben sees it coming at the last second and hits the table, spilling coffee water all over in the process. The muffin sails past his head. While Reiben’s reflexes are fast, the guy sitting behind him -- drinking decaf, typing idly on a laptop, wearing a freaking turtleneck -- doesn't even see it coming. The muffin connects with the back of his head, and knocks the guy’s face into his laptop screen with an awful crack.)_

“To be fair, Webster is a bit of an ass.”

“Even asses don’t deserve a muffin to the face!” exclaims Mellish. “I mean, Jesus, have you seen his boyfriend? He’s like… six whole feet of hair gel, leather, and testosterone-fueled rage.”

Upham settles his face in his arms and let out a drawn-out moan. Not only is he going to be fired, he’s going to be murdered by Pretentious Hipster Guy’s terminator boyfriend.

Ryan looks close to falling into despair. “He’s a regular,” he mutters. “A regular.”

And this is how Upham is unceremoniously but definitively fired from Ryan’s Brewery and Bakery, after one full day of work. Ryan is nice about it. He even offers Upham his number, and promises to text if he sees any other places that are hiring. Ryan’s a nice kid, and an acquaintance Upham is glad to have made.

Still, he really wishes he had never stepped foot in the coffee shop in the first place. 

* * *

 

“It’s not that bad,” Wade starts to say, once they’re back in their room and ready to turn in for the night.

Upham stares at him for a long time. He takes in Wade, with his deceptively mild face illuminated by the glare of his laptop, echoes of amusement still lingering in his dark eyes.

He doesn’t say a word -- he simply turns out his life, pulls the covers up to his chin, and turns in bed to face the wall.

“Oh,” he hears Wade say. “Okay. Goodnight.” 

* * *

 

Upham isn't at all surprised to wake up the next morning to an empty bed. Wade doesn't have hospital duty today; it would be one of those rare mornings when he permits himself to sleep late. Even so, Upham hadn't expected him to be here. If he'd woken up while Wade was still asleep, he'd have made himself scarce too. He doesn't know much about Wade, or arguments with Wade. That's exactly why he doesn't want to be trapped in a room with him all morning when he's ostensibly not speaking to him.

It takes a while for his brain to wake up entirely, and only then does he realize what has been left behind in Wade’s absence. In lieu of his roommate, there is a book lying in the center of the narrow table that separates their two beds. Upham peers closely at it, and is surprised to see that it's an advanced language learner’s dictionary, from French to English. Upon the front cover, there is another of Wade’s trademark sticky notes, this one simply reading: _Upham._

The gift is a welcome one. He’s spoken about his double major to Wade before, and doubtless the dictionary will be helpful in his classes. He knows what it really is, however -- a peace offering.

The very idea of fighting with someone makes Upham uncomfortable; he's never been the type to hold grudges, and his foul moods usually blow over as fast as summer storms. Still, the memory of his roommates’ jeering from the night before stings.

Of course, a gift doesn't solve anything. It doesn't evaporate the tension that exists between Upham and his roommates. It doesn't get him out of being everyone's favorite punching bag, and it certainly doesn't get him his job back.

The first Wednesday of that month is still going to pass, without a cent coming from Upham’s pocket. He didn't want to have to take advantage of the immunity Miller has given him from rent, but it doesn't seem like he'll have a choice.

He feels bad -- really, he does -- but what can he do? It isn't as if he doesn't want to pay. He simply has no way of making money. His first job crashed and burned so spectacularly that he’s a little apprehensive about trying again.

He trudges down to the kitchen with his head hung low, hoping it's early enough that he won't run into any of his roommates. His hopes sink, however, when he spots Reiben at the kitchen table.

The other man has yet to change into anything presentable, and looks exactly as early-morning hazy as Upham feels. Reiben is shirtless, dark hair mussed from sleep. He cradles a cup of coffee in his hands like a lifeline. As Upham watches, he sets it down on the table, considers for a moment, picks it up again, then takes a long sip. This is all before Reiben notices he isn't alone; when he does, he starts, spilling a bit of liquid down his neck. To his credit, he doesn't choke on the coffee.

“Shit,” Reiben curses, swiping at the coffee on his shoulder with a bare hand. Upham just offers an uninspired “hi” as he moves towards the pot himself.

“Don't do that. You're like a goddamn ninja or something.”

Upham snorts at this. There are mornings he can tolerate Reiben’s attitude; this isn't one of them. His body moves on autopilot as he breezes through his morning routine; he pours his coffee black, adds a handful of sweetener packets, before turning to the upper cabinets for a bowl and box of cereal. He's just opening it when an unexpected voice breaks through his empty mind.

“Don't bother,” says Reiben, and Upham turns towards him. He's surprised by what he finds; Reiben, still in his casual slouch against the counter, is holding a paper plate out to him. On that plate sits one of the coveted frosted pop tarts, the ones Reiben has been so careful to defend with life and limb. The first time Upham had tried to help himself to one, Reiben nearly kicked it out of his hand. He chased Mellish all the way down to Sarge’s basement for one just a few days ago (and both of them were subsequently driven back up again, an angry Horvath hot on their heels). The sight of one being offered to Upham, no strings attached, feels way too good to be true.

Reiben doesn't look like he's joking, however; the only emotion on his face is a flicker of exasperation as Upham continues to eye the pop tart as if it's been poisoned. He shakes the plate in a clear gesture, prompting Upham to reach out for it -- but he hesitates at the last second.

“I thought you hated me.”

“I don't hate you. I didn't respect you. There’s a difference.” On the counter, the toaster makes an alarming noise somewhere between a buzz and a wail. Reiben smacks it. “But you also lost your job for chucking a donut at my head. Kinda hard not to respect that.”

Upham is baffled at his twisted logic, especially because he's sure Ryan hadn't respected it (poor Webster certainly hadn't). However, Reiben looks as self-assured as ever, comfortable in his own unfathomable reasoning. He easily hoists himself up to sit on top of the counter , and stares at Upham like a dangerous animal would study something weaker than itself. He is scrutinizing, a little amused, and mildly entertained.

“This doesn't mean we're buddies,” Reiben says finally, passing a plate over to Upham. “Have a pop tart.”

Upham regards the plate with a small huff, before finally taking it as the peace offering that it is.

It's not much, he decides, thinking of the empty bed upstairs -- but it's a start.


End file.
